


who would ever want to let go of you

by temposh



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Gen, Jongdae's Birthday Week 2020, MAMA Era Powers (EXO), but is there such a thing as loving junmyeon too much?, jongdae worries about junmyeon too much bc he loves him too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temposh/pseuds/temposh
Summary: junmyeon is the anchor in jongdae's life, the anchor holding down a ship that, without it, would no doubt drown at sea and leave no survivors.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen & Kim Junmyeon | Suho
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18
Collections: Challenge #7 — Out of Order





	who would ever want to let go of you

“I’m going to be away for a few days.”

We’re much older now. He looks up at me from over his cup of tea with the same sparkling eyes that met mine over a decade ago, sipping as he awaits my reaction.

I tilt my head. Junmyeon hates leaving home. “Why?”

“They said there’s someone a few towns over who can apparently control snow.” He shrugs, “The reports say he can make it snow whenever he wants.”

“The person sounds a lot like me.”

Junmyeon laughs. The teacup clinks against the plate as his shoulders and hands shake as he does. “Yeah— but he’s much more experienced with it. I thought I’d bring him over so you two could learn from each other. Maybe I could too. Some trio learning and bonding.” His smile is genuine. Was it  _ this _ lonely knowing the only person like him in this whole village was the same person he’s seen everyday since he was in school?

I hum. There's one last question on the tip of my tongue. “Am I coming with you?” 

“No.” He looks up again and I fear that my worried expression is a bit too obvious— there were too many variables, like trying to make up a weather report when I’m in town. He could get hurt, the snow wielder might not be as nice as he hopes, or something horrible happens while he’s gone and no one else is able to stop it. I feared he read it all from the slight frown on my face. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Why can’t I come with you?”

“Jongdae. Nothing bad has happened in ten years. You’ll have to let me go at some point.” 

I laugh. Who would ever want to let go of him?

* * *

The village people walk around me on their tiptoes. 

Being born during a lightning storm is a bad omen. But being struck by that lightning hours after being born— now  _ that _ was a social death sentence. The roof of the doctor's home peeled off the ceiling as if it was a piece of paper never truly glued properly, exposing him and their now-terrified family to the harshness of nature. 

According to the weather phenomena notes placed far in the back corner of the school's library _(I wonder why, then I watch the way the librarian refuses to make eye contact with me when I checkout a book)_ , the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 12,000. Then out of the 500 or so people who get struck by lightning a year, 90% of them survive the shock. 

The book goes on to list long-term ailments of being struck by lightning: seizures, pain, and other details I couldn't catch because the librarian had finally caught me squatting in the corner reading and promptly placed it on a top shelf. A new home, right next to the issues of  _ The Flash  _ that she refuses to even let me glance at.

But I’m not fast. I can't run at the speed of light; sometimes I cry that I can't because if I could then I could steal a few comic books and then the raindrops start pitter-pattering on the window. Other times I'd be upset over getting a 70 on my math test and I'd begin to sulk and by the end of the day, it's suddenly thundering when the weather report said clear skies all week. When my mother first noticed this, she alerted the principal and the next day there was a cute little stack of  _ The Flash  _ comics waiting for me in the library.

"They don't like me either." There’s a boy who’d wiggled into the seat beside me without me noticing, all the way in my special corner of the library that has a  _ "KEEP OUT!" _ sign on the back of my chair. _Can’t he read?_ When I lower my comic an inch I see the top of his head, then his little smile as he stares back at me.

"Come again?" 

"They don't like me either. But they're more scared of you than they are of me."

He waves a finger and the water from my glass floats into mid-air and lands into his open mouth as if it's the most casual thing he's done in his  _ life _ . It takes me a moment to realize that he's the ultimate anti-Jongdae countermeasure— the principal called the other day saying there was a new student he thinks I’ll like. This was insulting. A  _ school-assigned _ best friend. 

I pause.

"I drank out of that already."

"Oh." He spits it out. It all goes right back into my cup.

His name was Junmyeon.

* * *

“How long has he been gone?” Minseok’s voice breaks the silence in their long trek through the sudden desert, though he was perfectly fine with a winter coat. I trudged along behind him, basking in his cold aura. 

I think. “A week. Said he wanted to talk to some guy who manipulates fire and that he’ll be gone for three days.”

“And Junmyeon always comes back when he says he will. Right?” He asks, and I nod.

An hour passes before Minseok stops dead in his tracks and I, mentally checked out, walk right into him. 

“Hey, what’s the hold up—” One of his hands covers my eyes while the other shuts my mouth closed. I mumbled the rest of my complaints into his hand.

His breathing is so quick, so fast his heart could probably beat right out of his ribcage. “Jongdae, we— let’s go back. We _have_ to go back.” 

“Why? Minseok, did something happen? You have to let me see.” I try to wiggle out of his grasp, both his hands covering my eyes frantically now.

“No,  _ no _ you can’t,  _ Jongdae— _ ” Minseok stumbles backwards and trips on a leg with a scream, scuttling backwards and away from the sight and I before closing his own eyes.

The body _stares_ back at me. Uncomfortably. _Lifelessly_.

His name was Junmyeon. 


End file.
